Time and Place
by simply woven
Summary: Snapshots of House's life, ranging from childhood to adulthood. Featuring Blythe House, Cuddy, Wilson, Stacy, and others.
1. 1967

_Cairo, Egypt – July 1967_

Blythe House wonders why it is she feels like she knows her son better than she knows her own husband? Yes, Gregory is her flesh and blood, the life she produced, her child. But John is the man she made the conscious decision to share her life with, to honor and to cherish, to grow old with. He was her best friend, her sweetheart, the love of her life. Yet lately, she's felt like she hardly knows him at all.

They – John, Blythe, and eight-year-old Gregory – are in Cairo, Egypt. It's been five months since they've arrived, but everything still feels foreign. Up until now, the small family has only lived in San Diego, California and Boblingen, Germany. Though both locations were new for Blythe, they had always lived on designated military bases. Being surrounded by other American families much like their own provided Blythe with a great deal of comfort.

Things are different in Cairo.

There are no American bases in Egypt. Not a single one. There just aren't enough men assigned to Egypt, John tells Blythe when he first gets his transfer papers, and very few of those who are in Egypt have brought their family. This makes Blythe wonder why John has brought his family, but she doesn't voice her concerns. She never does.

Without the base, Blythe's sense of community and camaraderie has all but disappeared. She doesn't speak the country's languages, doesn't practice the people's religion, and doesn't understand their culture. Even after five months, she feels like she's treading choppy water, struggling to keep her head above crashing waves of confusion.

Blythe knows part of her discomfort is caused by the nature of John's new assignment. Or, by what she doesn't know about the nature of John's new assignment. Of course Blythe knows what he is trained to do, what he did in San Diego and in Germany. She's seen him fly, has photos of him holding Gregory in front of one of his jets. Blythe understands all of that. What she doesn't know is how John is using those skills here, in Egypt. Is he flying? Working in an office? Training? Involved in a top-secret, cloak and dagger mission for some government agency? She doesn't know because John won't tell her.

Though Blythe knows the need for secrecy isn't John's fault, she can't help but feel the distance it is wedging them. The distance grows daily: every unanswered question is a foot, each unexplained absence a yard, and the resulting disputes each feel like a mile. Five months in to their two-year stay, Blythe feels like there's an entire world between them.

Her saving grace is Gregory. Blythe has always loved her son, but she's never felt as if she's understood him. When he was a young boy, a toddler, Blythe felt constantly bewildered by him. She didn't know how to handle his outbursts because she couldn't recognize their cause, struggled to answer his questions because couldn't understand what it was he wanted to hear. She gained a better understanding of him during their two-year stint in Germany, but his tendency toward solitude and rumination were still enigmatic. Gregory is now eight and Blythe is finally seeing her son for who he is. He's curious and smarter than any child she's ever encountered; his antics and tactlessness make her laugh and his bright blue eyes make her swoon; his outbursts make her cheeks burn with rage and his tears make her heart sink with sorrow; his questions make her think harder than she has ever thought before, and his laughter makes her happier than anything in the world. After five months of being each other's constant companion, Blythe knows her son like the back of her own hand.

It might feel like there are galaxies between Blythe and her husband, and maybe there are. But Blythe isn't upset by this because, with her son by her side, she's never alone.


	2. 1975

_Georgetown Preparatory School - Bethesda, Maryland – August 1975_

This is the first time you've been on U.S. soil with no imminent plans to leave since you were four and living in San Diego. You're a true-blue military brat, have spent almost every birthday in a different country. Your sixth and seventh birthdays were in Germany, eighth and ninth in Egypt. You left Egypt for Honolulu on your tenth birthday, so that one was spent in tens of thousands of feet over China. Japan saw the most birthdays: twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen. Almost as many as San Diego. Now it's the 23rd of August in the year 1975, you're sixteen years old, and you're in Bethesda, Maryland.

You're unpacking your two suitcases, organizing your records, and trying to figure out your new roommate. You think about lying when he asks you where you're from. You could tell him Lexington, Kentucky, which is where your parents live now. You're not sure you want people knowing that you've spent more time abroad than you have in the US, or that you know seven languages, or that you don't have a single friend who doesn't live over a thousand miles away. You're afraid of giving them reason to alienate you more than you're going to alienate yourself.

But you don't lie; it would take far too much effort to maintain a façade around the person with whom you're sharing a 150 square foot room. You tell him the truth. You rattle off names of countries and watch as his eyes widen. He asks if you're pulling his leg. You tell him no and ask where he's from. He tells you Alexandria (Virginia, not Egypt, though it takes a moment for you to realize that). The two of you end up having an actual conversation: he's been here since he was a freshman, is on the lacrosse team (like you), hates Nixon, and loves The Stones. He offers you a joint and you're glad you decided not to lie.

He – his name is Sam – introduces you to some of his friends, next. Most of them are on the lacrosse team. Every one of them has tanned skin, huge shoulders, and perfectly cropped hair. You first think that they must all be the same, and that bores you. But then you talk to some of them, one named Bob and one named Mikey and another named Jon, and you realize you're wrong. They're not too bad. Very few of them actually want to be here, none of them admit to supporting Nixon (though who would, these days? Besides your father, of course), and they all reek of pot. One's even an army brat. So you stay in the tiny, smoky room, get high, and make a conscious effort not to piss anyone off. You must do a good a job, because a few hours later you're sitting at a table in the dining hall with the same guys you just toked up with and you feel more comfortable than you have in a long time. You won't call these guys your friends yet (at least not to anyone but your mother when she calls you tonight or tomorrow morning to make sure you've settled in), but you're not ruling it out completely.

It's the 23rd of August in the year 1975 and you are sixteen years old. You are at a boarding school in Bethesda, Maryland and, for the first time in your life, you feel like you're where you belong.


	3. 1984

_University of Michigan – Ann Arbor, MI – August 1984_

I do not have a chip on my shoulder, Lisa Cuddy attempts to convince herself as she walks out of the college bookstore; he doesn't even know me.

"Hey! Girl Who Thinks She Has Something To Prove!" Lisa stops abruptly at the shouting but doesn't turn around. The guy calls out again. His voice is closer this time, "You forgot your biochem book!"

At that, Lisa turns around. The guy who had insisted not two minutes ago that she has 'something to prove' but 'knows how to party' is jogging across the pavement walkway, a thick textbook tucked under his arm. When he reaches her, he holds it out. Sure enough, it's the book she just purchased for her biochemistry course. Lisa grasps the book with her fingers but can't get it from his grasp when she pulls back. Looking down, she sees his long fingers wrapped deliberately around the edge, holding onto it firmly. She looks back up and narrows her eyes at Bookstore Guy.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" He asks. Lisa doesn't know much about this guy aside from the clues she picked up in the bookstore, but she can recognize arrogant mockery when she hears it. She can also recognize a guy attempting to flirt when she sees one. She decides to indulge him.

"Why should I thank you for deliberately holding one of my textbooks so you'd have to run out here and give it to me?" Lisa asks smartly, her gaze holding his steadily.

Bookstore Guy doesn't waver. "Because it gives you an excuse to talk to me again. Girls have committed coldblooded murder for the chance to do that; the least you can do is say 'thank you.'"

Lisa's eyes roll instinctively and her grip on the book tightens, but she can't help the upwards curl of her lips at the ridiculousness of his comment. "Thank you for returning my book," she concedes.

Bookstore Guys grins, revealing deep dimples. He lets go of the book and turns abruptly. "Good luck this semester, Girl Who Thinks She Has Something to Prove!" He calls, waving over his shoulder.

Sufficiently intrigued, Lisa watches as the twenty-something walks back to the bookstore.


	4. 1996

_Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital – Princeton, NJ – March 1996_

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hits you the moment he walks into your office.

You've forgotten how tall he is, how slender yet athletic. You've forgotten about his peculiar strut, and the way it exudes a lethal mix of arrogance and reticence. You remember the eyes, though. How could anyone forget those eyes? He's wearing khaki pants, brown sports coat, and a blue dress shirt. No tie. His brown hair is mussed and you think it's a bit thinner than it was the last time you saw him. More than a decade will do that, you suppose.

You greet him not by first name, but by his title: Doctor House. That's why he's standing in your office, after all. He is a doctor looking to be hired. You are a doctor looking to hire. That is all. You try to convince yourself that's all, at least.

It's a hard balance to strike, you soon realize, between the personal relationship you once shared and the professional one you're looking to begin. You haven't forgotten about Michigan, and you haven't forgotten about him. How could you, really? Your friendship was short-lived, and your sexual relationship even shorter-lived, but that doesn't minimize their lasting affects. The warmth that floods your cheeks every time his name pops up on the medical community's grapevine reminds you of this.

You know he remembers, too. That's why he called your office last week, hoping to fill a vacancy in nephrology. He was kind enough over the phone, but spoke to you as one would speak to a friend-of-a-friend, a distant acquaintance. He didn't mention Michigan once. It was better that way, you told yourself once you hung up the phone.

You know he's a risk. He has a reputation. He was expelled from Hopkins during his final year of medical school. He has been fired five times in the four years since he finished his infectious disease fellowship. He tells you during the interview that very few of his professional references will have positive things to say about anything besides his diagnostic abilities. He's a liability and you both know it. But you also know about his reputation as a medical genius and world-class diagnostician, that his IQ is in the 99th percentile and that he scored a perfect 45 on his MCATs, that he's a graduate of the University of Michigan and Johns Hopkins University and that he's trained under the best physicians at the country's best teaching hospitals. And you know those things and the attention they can bring to your hospital outweigh all else.

You wait until you're about to leave for the day before calling. A woman answers the phone and, even though you're not surprised, you feel your chest constrict. You ask for Doctor House and offer him the best deal you've been able to come up with: you'll give him the attending spot in nephrology but you won't pay him what he's worth. You can't take the risk you're taking without a few caveats. You also know that he'd be committing professional suicide if he turned your offer down: no one else will hire him. He knows this, too, and he accepts your offer readily.

You tell him to be in your office at 8 o'clock Monday morning. You then say goodnight to Doctor House.


	5. 1997

_221B Baker Street - Princeton, NJ – February 1997_

They had never intended to work together. They'd never had to consider it, really. Greg was relatively content in Princeton-Plainsboro's nephrology department and she was happy practicing constitutional law for the ACLU in Trenton. She had been happy, at least.

"It's stressful, Greg, and the hours are ridiculous," she told him when she first began to feel like she needed a change of pace.

"You did know you were going to have to be an attorney when you decided to go to law school, right?" he countered. Stacy knew he wasn't being a jerk. He just couldn't handle change and had a hard time understanding people who could.

"Yes, and I don't want to stop being an attorney. I do, on the other hand, want to stop practicing constitutional law for the biggest civil rights organization in the state," she said evenly.

"Where do you want to practice?"

She took a stabilizing breath. This could go one of two ways. "Princeton-Plainsboro. The legal department is looking for a new general counselor."

Greg responded after a few moments of silence, "You don't think that would be a conflict of interest?" He asked. His eyebrows were arched questioningly, "I'm the legal department's number one customer. They've given me a gold card and everything. Some sort of VIP membership, I guess. It's quite exclusive."

"They have more than one lawyer," she assured him. "And I don't think our personal relationship would affect my ability to defend you. I'd put out all the stops if it came down to you losing your license, actually, because I don't think I could handle you if you didn't have your patients to keep you busy." Greg smirked. "I want this job and I think I would be good at it. I just want to know if you would be okay if we worked in the same hospital?"

"It's fine with me."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Of course," he said with an encouraging nod. "We can carpool and everything. Maybe even coordinate our outfits." Stacy rolled her eyes. "Just do yourself a favor and don't mention my name during the interview."

"You don't think they'd be relieved to have someone up in legal who can actually deal with you?" She was only half-joking.

"I think they'd question your sanity." Greg didn't seem to be joking, either.


	6. 1998

_The University of Pennsylvania - Philadelphia, PA – January 1998_

James Wilson jumped as a sheet of white paper descended in front of his face.

"Happy birthday to you, dearest Jimmy." House spoke from behind him. Wilson checked his watch; House was twenty-seven minutes late, though Wilson considered himself lucky that his friend showed up at all.

Wilson grabbed the paper and glanced at it without reading it. "What, is this my two-months-late birthday gift?"

"I figured it'd make you feel better about our relationship if I acted like I hadn't forgotten." House sat across from him.

Wilson smirked at his friend before redirecting his attention to the sheet of paper. He read it over once, narrowed his eyes, and then read it over again. "Seriously?" He asked, finally looking up at House with wide eyes.

House nodded, leaning back in the wooden chair and smiling slyly, "Seriously."

"I'd have to apply," Wilson said carefully, questioningly.

"Well, yeah. Lisa Cuddy's easy, but she's not that easy," House scoffed, smirking. "You're more than qualified, Stacy will tell Cuddy you're a saint, Cuddy knows I wouldn't be friends with an idiot…you'll get it, I'm sure."

Wilson's grin grew, "Princeton, huh?"

House nodded. "Bonnie gonna be good with it?"

Wilson paused for a long moment. For a few minutes, he'd completely forgotten about his wife. Her real-estate job was focused specifically in Philadelphia, an hour away from Princeton. "Well…we'll figure something out. We can move, or I can move. Whatever. We'll figure it out." He was thinking aloud.

House's interest piqued at the tone of disregard in Wilson's tone, "Trouble in paradise?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. She'll probably just be relieved I've found a job I actually want."

House nodded once, "Good."

Wilson brought his coffee cup to his mouth and looked at the printout once more. Attending position in the Department of Oncology at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He had a good feeling about it.


	7. 1998 II

_Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital - Princeton, NJ - December 1998_

Lisa Cuddy sighed in exasperation. She had expected House in her office thirty-two minutes ago. Thirty. Two. Minutes. She understood that carelessness was his default mentality, but it made her second guess the deal she was about to offer him. It had taken an arm and a leg and one of her more revealing blouses to convince the board to go along with her idea, and she knew they'd be out to get her if this didn't work out.

There was a knock at her door before it opened.

"Thanks for joining me," she commented without looking up.

"You're welcome," House responded seriously as he dropped into the seat opposite hers. "So what's up, boss lady? Giving me my Christmas gift? You know, I asked Santa for a new set of golf clubs, but I'd settle for –"

Cuddy extended her right index finger and shushed House loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. She finished jotting down notes that she didn't really need to jot down. A few moments later she closed the file, put her pen down, and looked at her employee. "How do you think the past two years have gone?"

"I think the fact that I'm still here sums it up nicely," he shrugged.

"Do you want to stay here?"

"I don't want to go anywhere else."

"Do you want to stay in nephrology?"

"Well I certainly don't want to move to OB/GYN or pediatrics. I think the State Medical Board might have a few issues with that. Not to mention the patients. Eek."

"Listen, Doctor House, if you can't be upfront with me—"

"—I am being upfront with you. I think the past two years have gone well and I want to stay here. Things are good."

"You're bored, though, right?" If he wasn't already, she knew he would be soon. She also knew what happened when Gregory House became bored. She wanted to avoid it at all costs.

House narrowed his eyes at her, "Diabetes, renal failure, and vasculitis aren't exactly medical mysteries, but I'm in the business of taking what I can get."

Cuddy nodded, "If you could do something else, here in the hospital, what would it be? Is there anything else you want to do? You're double board certified. You don't need to stay in nephrology forever."

"Listen, Doctor Cuddy, if you can't be upfront with me…"

She suppressed her amusement with his impersonation of her. "The board likes the money and attention you've brought to the hospital. They want to give you the chance to do more."

House's eyebrows rose.

"Department of Diagnostics. You'll get a few cases a week, mostly referrals from infectious disease or nephrology, maybe the clinic or ER. Solve the puzzles they can't. It's a significant pay raise, tenure track, better title, more flexibility and autonomy." She rattled off the positive aspects of the position.

"But?"

Cuddy sighed, "Three fellows. You'll handle the interview process—" Cuddy paused at House's groan of disapproval. "Hey, hey, hey," she held out her hands defensively, "this was the single condition the board had. The only one. You having your own department is one thing for the hospital's image, but you actually training fellows to do what you do is a whole other."

"So you're exploiting me?"

"Does that bother you?"

"No."

She smirked. "I'll need your answer by Monday at noon."

House nodded once and stood from his seat. "That it?"

"That's it." Cuddy nodded.

House had his hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door, when he paused and looked back. "I want the ortho suite on the fourth floor. Both rooms."

"With the glass walls?" She knew it was the one with glass walls. It was also the one adjacent to James Wilson's office.

A nod. "Give me the suite and I'm in."

Cuddy thought about his bargain for about as long as he had thought about her offer. "We'll talk logistics when the board reconvenes after the New Year," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Good." House nodded once more. He wasn't smiling, but Cuddy knew he was pleased. "Thank you."

"Have a good Christmas, Doctor House."


End file.
